Before
by Skriva
Summary: Before The Joker there was Jack Napier. Set before, during and after the flashbacks in the Batman comic, 'The Killing Joke'. No pairings, aside from The Joker/Jack Napier x Jeannie Napier. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.**

 **Hey guys!**

 **I'm new to writing fanfiction but I've always enjoyed reading it so I figured I'd give it a go :)**

 **I love Batman comics, movies, etc. and The Joker has to be my all time favorite character so I said 'What the hell, why not give it a go writing a story about him?'**

 **I was fascinated by the comic, 'The Killing Joke', and a glimpse of his past life as Jack Napier before becoming The Joker.**

 **So the story starts off right before Jack gets home after his failed comedian audition.**

 **Reviews are so definitely welcome!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-Skriva**

 **Before**

 _God this was terrible._

Jack Napier licks his dry lips, slowly raising his eyes to the crowd.

No one was laughing, well no, they _were_ laughing actually…at him.

 _Why'd I think this was a good idea?_

"HEY GET ON WITH IT ALREADY!"

The shout is like the roar of a grizzly and Jack subconsciously tugs at the corner of his bowtie, sweat trickling down the back of his neck and dampening his shirt collar.

 _Shit._

He grips the microphone and darting the tip of his tongue once more over his chapped lips he speaks,

"D-Did ya ever hear the one a-about the f-fat clown?"

 _No it was all wrong!_ The voice coming out of him, it wasn't him, not Jack Napier.

It wasn't the confident suave masculine drawl of the famous comedian he heard when he practiced in front of the chipped mirror at home.

This was the nasally screech of the gawky awkward chemist's assistant.

The good for nothing loser without a solid plan for his life, the stuttering idiot with a pregnant wife and two weeks behind rent.

The Average Joe people passed by on the street without a second glance, the moron who forgot every joke he ever learned as soon as he stepped up on stage.

He had to get this right! He had to impress the judges, for Jeannie.

"W-Well there was this clown; y-ya see, and he's not feelin' too happy."

 _Am I the unhappy clown?_ Jack wonders, his hand gripping the microphone slick with sweat and slippery.

"WHAT'S YOUR POINT?" The voice bellows and something is hurled past his head, shattering against the wall behind him.

"Th-The clown is d-down cause see he's been gaining too much weight and he goes up to the circus m-master to turn in his resignation, o-or whatever clowns turn in to say they're through."

Jack chuckles nervously and is met by a barrage of loud _BOOS_.

His gaunt face flushes scarlet in humiliation but he forges onward; ducking as another glass shatters above his head,

"So he's got his b-bag all packed up and he s-says to the circus master, 'Look Mac, I'm too f-fat to ride m-my unicycle anymore so I'm quitting.'

And the circus master he, he gets a-all s-s-surprised,"

 _No the stuttering was getting worse!_

"a-and he e-exclaims, 'T-t-t-that's okay Bub-b! Y-you can be t-the-'"

Jack's warbling voice finally cracks, snapping spectacularly midsentence.

The jeers grow deafening and Jack sees the judges rolling their eyes. If only the ground would swallow him whole on the spot, a man sized crater opening in the stage to hide him from those ugly sneering faces.

"'t-the new fat lady.'"

He finishes in a whisper, letting the microphone fall against his side as the host appears on stage; his smile brilliant and false,

"Thank you Mr. Napier for that **_wonderful_** demonstration of talent."

His words are dripping with sarcasm and Jack is drenched in cheap whiskey from a flying glass as he turns to leave the spotlight, a wavy strand of hair drooping between his green eyes.

The night is crisp, winter sealing its grip over Gotham as Jack heads for home. He keeps his head lowered; sunk deep within the collar of his threadbare tuxedo jacket, the one he wore for his wedding. The one he bought from Lucky's Pawn.

Dry skeletons of leaves skitter before him on the cracked sidewalk, crushed beneath the soles of his patched shoes. The round moon above fades from sight behind a curtain of heavy black clouds as Jack climbs the crumbling steps of the two story brick house belonging to Mrs. Burkiss.

Even out on the steps he could smell it, cat feces and the weird scent that clings to old people and their outdated furniture.

"Hey Jack, how'd it go?"

Jack turns around to see the pencil thin mustache of Frank.

"Like shit."

"Aw hell, sorry man."

"Yeah."

"You wanna go get a drink?"

Jack shakes his drooping head, "Thanks anyway Frank, but I've got to get upstairs to check on Jeanie."

Frank nods, weasels face dipping in and out of the shadow cast by his wide brimmed hat,

"Sure thing Jack."

Jack tries to smile but it takes too much effort so he just gives Frank a dismal half wave and retreats into the damp front hall.

He did his best to steer clear of Frank and his underworld connections, Jack wasn't a criminally minded man and the idea of tangling with Gotham's mobs scared him.

The door at the end of the hall creaks open and the gnarled figure of his landlady appears in the light spilling from within her room; grizzled grey hair standing wildly out from her shriveled face and reminding Jack of a wicked witch.

He hated the woman.

And the faded pink bows in her hair.

And her disgusting crusty cats.

And her house.

He sighs heavily and climbs the groaning staircase to his apartment room, tripping over the scattered throw rugs soaked with spots of cat urine.

He hated it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.**

 **Here is chapter two** **J**

 **Thanks so much for the reviews! Keeps me writing!**

 **Oh and DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything to do with DC or Batman or The Joker (sadly) so don't haul me into court please!**

 **Chapter Two - The Apartment**

Jeanie looked up from the bowl on the table before her when she heard the front door downstairs open.

Jack was home; she heard him muttering to himself as he climbed the rickety staircase to their apartment room, stumbling over one of Mrs. Burkiss's disgusting throw rugs.

The audition hadn't gone well.

She wished she could have been there, to support him, cheer him on but Jeanie also knew how nervous that would have made Jack. Gentle awkward Jack.

The door opened and Jack shuffled inside, not meeting her hopeful gaze, hanging up his hat on the nail beside the door.

"Well how did it go? Did they like your act?"

He tugs at his bowtie, still not meeting her eyes, "They said they might call me."

That was a lie, no one had said anything of the sort to him, they just mocked and laughed.

"I dunno, I-I got nervous and messed up on a punchline." he mumbles, unable to tell her the humiliating truth in all its cruel glory.

"Oh."

Jeanie sighs softly, looking down at the battered table, the orange strip of fly paper dangling from the lamp above her head casting shadows across her hands and chipped coffee mug.

"What do you mean by 'Oh'?" Jack suddenly demands, wheeling about to hunch over the table and thrust his long gaunt face within an inch of hers.

Jeanie leans back, startled,

"I…I didn't mean anything-"

"Yes you did! The way you said it, 'oh', like that." He snarls, green eyes wide with anger as his nails bite into the table top.

Jeanie shrinks back farther in her chair, the scent of the raw squid in the bowl and the cheep whiskey soaking Jack's tuxedo making her nauseous.

"Jeez, all I said was-"

"You said 'oh' as in 'oh' so you didn't get the job?' As in 'oh' so how are we going to feed the baby?'"

Jack's pointed nose is nearly brushing hers as he bangs his clenched fist onto the table with every 'oh'. Jeannie is starting to get scared, afraid it might be her face instead of the table soon.

"You don't think I'm worried about that?"

Jack's voice quavers and he abruptly turns away, still clenching his chapped hands into fists as he squeezes his eyes shut against the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"Y-You think,"

He swallows against the rising lump in his throat, "You think I don't care, that it's all a big **joke** to me or something…"

Jeannie's eyes widen as his bony shoulders begin to shake, her earlier fright forgotten at the sound of his gentle weeping,

"Jeez, I-I have to go, I have to go and stand up there, and nobody laughs, and you t-think, you think I…"

"Jack, baby."

He falls to his knees in front of her and buries his tear streaked face in her lap, shoulders shaking with suppressed weeping,

"Oh God."

Jeannie cradles his head close against her swollen stomach, gently stroking his unruly black waves, murmuring, "Oh baby…"

"Oh God, I'm sorry…"

He wraps his arms tightly around her middle, inhaling the sweet scent of brown sugar and sweat that rises from her cotton nightgown,

"I don't mean to take it out on you- you're suh- suffering enough, being married to a loser."

"Honey that's not…"

Jack knows what she's going to say before she even says it, 'that's not true Jack, you're not a loser.'

"It's **true**. I can't support you." he quickly interrupts then adds quietly into her lap,

"Oh Jeannie, what are we going to do?"

She bends awkwardly over her enlarged stomach to plant a kiss on his upturned forehead, saying as he gazes up into her smiling eyes, "It'll be okay."

He releases his grip on her and rocks back on his heels as she adds cheerfully,

"Junior won't be here for another three months, and I think Mrs. Burkiss will let the rent go a little longer. She feels sorry for me."

Jack rubs his puffy eyes, "She hates me."

He gets laboriously to his feet and stumbles over to the rooms one window, leaning his flushed forehead against the cool grime coated glass and sighing heavily,

"She comes out into the hallway to scowl at me every time I go upstairs."

A cold winter rain has started to fall, running down the window pane as he continues,

"This house stinks of cat litter and old people. I've got to get you out of here before the baby comes."

As if on que the baby gives a sharp kick and Jeannie winces, she didn't like the idea of raising their first child here anymore than Jack did but they would make things work, they always had. Mrs. Burkiss even seemed excited by the prospect of the new little addition to the Napier family.

The old landlady had confided once to Jeannie that she had been married and divorced three times and didn't hear much from any of her children, she didn't even know how many grandchildren she had.

Jack was still talking, staring out at the black storm clouds hovering over the silhouettes of Gotham City,

"I just want enough money to get set up in a decent neighborhood."

He smiles darkly, "There are girls on the street who earn that in a weekend without having to tell a single joke."

Jeannie's deep throaty laughter turns him around and she holds out her hand,

"Honey, don't worry. Not about any of it. I still love you, Y'know? Jon or no job, you're good in the sack…"

He chuckles, a wry grin spreading across his haggard face as she finishes, "and you know how to make me laugh."

"Yeah I guess so."

She gives his fingers a tight squeeze, "I'm tired. You?"

That night Jack lay awake listening to Jeannie's quiet breathing, her cheek snuggled against his chest, blond hair ruffled from sleep.

He had to do something.

Anything.

He would do whatever it took to give Jeannie a good life.

True, she didn't complain or even seem to mind living in Mrs. Burkiss's grungy upstairs apartment; the day they were married she had told him she wouldn't care where she lived so long as it was with him, but he wanted something better for her.

He looked around their dark room, at the hanging laundry above the table and the cracked mirror and the tiny stove with its tiny counter space and cupboard.

There was a soft blue baby blanket hanging beside his undershirt on the flimsy clothesline and on the counter there was a box containing a bottle heater Jeannie had picked up at some second hand store down the street.

Whatever it was he was going to do he needed to do it soon, very soon.

 **A.N.**

 **Stupid bottle heater!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.**

 **Hello Munchies!**

 **Before we get started today I wanted to give a HUGE thank you to crowmedicine85 for all the encouragement! You rock!**

 **CHAPTER THREE – FRANK'S SCHEME**

Jack watched the black sky over Gotham grow lighter, the remnants of last night's storm clouds tinged faintly pink by the rising sun.

As he laid quietly, Jeannie asleep beside him, Jack thought back over what had happened the night before. He knew Jeannie was being honest, he knew she meant it when she said she didn't mind living here in the grungy apartment.

But Jack had also seen the shadow of worry darken her face when she looked at the calendar, at the small square circled in red; the day Junior would arrive.

He had also noticed the way her shoulders caved inwards and how she let her head droop towards her chest in exhaustion when she thought he wasn't looking, her fingertips raw from mending a stack of some rich man's golfing socks.

Jeannie sighs softly in her sleep and Jack rolls over to look at her better, their noses brushing at the tips. Even in sleep Jack could see the strain in his wife's gentle face, lines creasing her skin that shouldn't have appeared until years from now.

"I won't disappoint you anymore Jeannie, I promise." He whispers reaching out to gently touch her cool cheek, "I promise."

With great care not to wake her Jack climbs out of bed and pulls a wrinkled suit off the clothesline hanging above the table. Jeanie would have ironed for him he knew but this morning he doesn't have time to wait. For once he has a destination in mind when he steps outside into the crisp winter morning, shutting the door on the foul smelling tenement.

 _It's the best shot I've got._ He tells himself pulling on the brim of his worn hat,

 _My only shot._

Finding Frank wasn't as hard as what Jack had initially expected, perhaps as he had vainly hoped.

Frank was where he had always said he would be if Jack ever needed to get ahold of him, a decrepit bar & grill situated on a dingy street of other seedy buildings.

Jack carefully steps over a drunk slumped half on the sidewalk and half in the gutter, the noise of loud chatter and dishes clinking together carrying faintly to him from the bar's partially open door. He could turn back now, it wasn't too late to go back to Jeannie and their apartment; he could pick up some much needed groceries on his way.

Jeannie would like that. Jack smiles faintly to himself but the smile fades as quickly as it had appeared, he had no more money, the audition the night before was supposed to land him a paying gig and he had botched it up.

A dirty newspaper blows down the sidewalk, rolling like a tumbleweed to flatten against Jack's legs as he remembers the clerk at the 5 and dime won't let them have anything more on credit until they pay off their lengthy tab. He won't be bringing Jeannie any new groceries to replenish the bare shelves of the tiny cupboard with.

He glances down at the newspaper; his shoulders caving inwards like Jeannie's; a blurry photograph adorns the front page, a man wearing a solid helmet and cape beneath the bold headline, 'WHO IS THE REDHOOD?'

 _Some idiot._ Jack thinks sourly stepping aside to let the newspaper continue its tumbling journey.

 _Who would want to wear that stupid looking thing anyway?_

A peel of raucous laughter erupts from the open doorway and Jack gives his bowtie a nervous tug, as has become his custom of late, and steps up to the bar's entrance.

He could still go home Jack thinks as he hesitates on the threshold, peering cautiously into the dim low ceilinged room, the air thick with cigarette and cigar smoke.

"Hey Jack ol' buddy!"

Too late now.

Frank stands up from a table by the bar, waving Jack over with a grin,

"Speak of the devil! We were just talking about you Jackie boy."

Jack inches his way carefully through the crowded room full of women with morbid amounts of makeup caked on their worn out faces and men in stained undershirts sporting scruffy hazes of beards; feeling utterly out of place and discomfortingly vulnerable.

Frank nudges out a chair for Jack, studying the comedian's nervous features with narrow glittering eyes, "How are you doing Jack?"

"F-Fine."

"You look like you didn't get much sleep."

"No I guess I didn't." Jack admits, wincing as one of the women nearest their table lets out a screeching guffaw.

Frank grins and pats Jack's arm lightly, "Take easy there Jack."

Then turning to the bartender he calls out, "Hey Bruce how about a beer for my friend here?"

"Oh n-no Frank, I couldn't drink now, it's not even lunchtime yet." Jack objects weakly, his skin crawling from the eyes fixed on him.

Frank laughs good naturedly, "Aw Jack don't worry about it, its just this once. Besides you look like you could use a beer, you're wound tighter than a spring."

"So you're Jack Napier huh?"

It is now Jack notices the other man sitting at the table with them, eating giant shrimp with unappetizingly wet crunching noises, his thick mustache catching bits of the white meat like a comb.

Jack doesn't say anything, his eyes riveted on the basket of giant shrimp in the middle of the warped table. Why were they so big? He can see their round eyes and suddenly he feels nauseated.

Frank nods for Jack, "This is him, best chemist in Gotham."

"I-I'm not a chemist. I just used to work at a chemical plant see, as a lab assistant." Jack interjects quickly as the bartender sets a tall beer glass down in front of him, "Just an assistant."

"Sure Jack." Frank smiles then adds, 'Drink up buddy, me n' Smiles here have a proposition to make.

"Proposition?" Jack echoes and Frank taps the sweating glass with a crooked forefinger, "Drink up."

 **A.N. Part Two of Frank's Scheme should be up fairly soon, hang in here with me.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.**

 **Okay here is part two of Frank's Scheme XD**

 **Please read and review and I will love you forever and ever!**

 **CHAPTER FOUR: FRANK'S SCHEME – PART TWO**

Frank traces his finger around the rings the bottom of his beer glass makes in silence before speaking, "See here Jack, I need a little help with a problem I've got and I figured you're just the guy to ask."

"What's the problem?" Jack asks cautiously, casting a nervous glance at Smiles who is slowly pulling the legs one by one off the shrimp in his hand before eating it.

"Well you used to work at the Ace Chemical Plant right?"

"Yeah."

"And there's a playing card factory next door?"

Jack's forehead creases in confusion, "Yeah, yeah there is but what does any of that have to do with your problem?"

The beer was making him feel strange.

Frank and Smiles share a quick look, their eyes shining with criminalistic greed,

"There's a good sized safe in the card factory with a nice sum of cash in it."

Jack immediately sees where the conversation is headed and moves to get up from the table, "I need to check on Jeannie-"

'Sit down Napier." Smiles orders jerking him roughly back down into the unsteady chair, his breath reeking of booze and boiled shrimp.

Those shrimp. They stare at Jack with their big bulging eyes as Frank laughs easily and Smiles lets go of his arm.

"Be cool Jack, your old lady is fine."

A cold sweat breaks out across Jack's skin and the room suddenly feels suffocatingly close, as if the walls and patrons might fall in and crush him.

"Jack."

He swallows and looks into Frank's weasel face, his green eyes wide with the panic of a trapped animal.

"Jeez Jack!" the gangster chuckles, "You're going to crack one of these days if you don't learn to take things in stride, relax."

Jack tries, picking up his half-finished glass of beer and taking a sip.

"Look man, you're always saying how you're strapped for cash and Jane is pregnant-"

"Jeannie." Jack corrects quietly but Frank continues as if he hasn't heard,

"So I'm going to let you in on a job that will give you more cash than you know what to do with. You help me and Smiles out and we'll see you're taken care of. It'll be better than tryin' to get a loan from me like you were coming in here to do."

"Its easy money kid." Smiles adds biting the bug-eyed head off another shrimp.

"I dunno…I-I'm not a criminal, I don't know anything about robbery or safe cracking."

"Who said anything about robbery or safecracking?" Frank asks.

"B-But that's what this job is right?" Jack cries, jumping at a drunken roar from across the bar.

"Naw kid, that's our job not yours. We just need someone who knows the layout of the area." Smiles answers, reaching for another greasy shrimp.

Jack still hesitates, "I guess that wouldn't be so bad, nothing really wrong with helping you get to the card factory…"

Frank puts a hand on his shoulder, "Right Jackie boy, now why is it we're even discussing this in the first place? Why'd you come all the way down here to find me?"

Jack picks up his beer and takes a longer drink, "Because…"

He aimlessly picks up one of the limp shrimp bodies, slightly revolted by their slippery texture, "Y'see…Y'see, I have to prove myself, as a husband and a father!"

He drops the shrimp back into the basket and continues, reminding himself of Jeannie's tired face and the tab at the Five and Dime, "I mean, I, well, I wouldn't be doing this sort of thing if it wasn't something important."

Frank nods understandingly and Jack takes an even bigger drink of the now warm beer,

"It's like, I began as a lab assistant, right? Was a good job. Real good job."

His words were coming faster now as if someone had freed his tongue and it now had a mind of its own.

"So, what I did, I quit to become a comedian. I was so sure, _so sure_ I had talent."

 _What am I thinking?_ Jack wonders, amazed at himself for speaking so openly to these men he hardly knew, spilling his guts like it was confession.

He finishes his beer and Frank motions for Bruce to get him another one as he continues ramblingly,

"But., ha, well, look at me. I guess my talents didn't lie in that direction."

 _Where do my talents lie?_ He muses sadly, _Weren't people his age supposed to know what they were good at? All he was good at as far as he could tell was getting himself in over his head._

Bruce sets the new glass down in front of him as he adds with his usual nervous warble, "So, you see, like, i-if I just do the one big crime…"

Then Jeannie will be happy and safe forever.

"Hey, Jeez man, be cool." Frank laughs.

Jack's head is beginning to throb and he mumbles, "I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry, I don't usually drink lunchtimes…its just, if you're sure we can get away with this thing and that nobody will know I was involved…"

He can't bear the thought of Jeannie's look of disappointment when the police haul him away to prison; her left all alone to raise their child.

"Don't worry, _friend_. We'll take care of you." Smiles assures him.

Jack however doesn't feel comforted in the least by Smiles as the portly thug shoves one of the shrimp into Jack's mouth, "We need you help getting through that chemical plant where you worked to the playing card company next door."

Jack wants to vomit, the shrimp with its greasy body and spidery legs stuffed halfway down his throat.

Smiles gives him a fake grin, "We really appreciate your expertise."

 _Expertise? At what? Being a screw-up?_

Frank lifts a dusty well-worn carpet bag into his lap and tugs it open saying, cigarette hang loosely from his lips, "So, like, to absolutely guarantee nobody connects you with the robbery…"

He tips the bag so Jack can see inside, a crafty smile crinkling at the corners of his thin mouth, "…you'll be wearing this."

Jack's eyes grow wide in astonishment, the tail of the shrimp hanging limply from his lips; a gleaming red helmet glares up at him from the bag, the same helmet on the tumbleweed newspaper.

 _ **WHO IS THE RED HOOD?**_

 _It's going to be me._

"Wearing..?" Jack chokes, swallowing the shrimp whole and feeling its body slip down to his churning stomach, "B-But there are no eye-slits. I won't be able to see."

Smiles picks up another shrimp and begins picking its legs off one by one and Frank grins, tapping the helmet, "There's these lenses o' red two-way mirror glass set into it. Pretty smart stuff, right?"

Jack clutches his beer glass in his trembling fingers, stammering, "I, I dunno. That mask…isn't it the one the Red Hood guy wears who r-raided that ice company last month?"

Frank rolls his eyes, becoming annoyed with Jack's hesitance, "Smarten up. There ain't no "Red Hood". There's just a buncha guys, anna' mask."

"Right! It doesn't matter who's under the Hood. We just sort of let the most _valued_ member of the mob wear it for, uh, additional anonymity."

"Sure! The most valued member. That's _you_ , man." Frank agrees as a man at the bar vomits into his whiskey and all over the counter.

Jack shrinks down into his chair as Frank and Smiles lean in towards him over the table, both picking the legs of the bug-eyed shrimp with small wet crunching sounds, his stomach rolling as he catches a whiff the lushes puke, "Ahhh, look, really, I don't know… That chemical plant's so grim and ugly. That's partly why I quit."

"But you said there's minimal security, man." Frank argues and Smiles cuts in with a violent tug on his shrimps leg,

"Listen, do you want to raise your kid in poverty?"

The man at the bar is getting up to leave, a hand over his mouth as he begins to retch again. Jack shudders and hides his face in his hands, the noises of the mobsters crunching on the shrimp and the putrid scent of vomit making him sick to his stomach,

"No. No, of course not. You're right."

He sucks in a slow breath, 'I mean, it's just this once, then I can switch neighborhoods and start a proper life…"

"That's the attitude!" Smiles exclaims, slapping Jack's hunched shoulder, "So…Next Friday night, at eleven?"

Jack nods, there was no going back now, "Sure. Sure why not?" He laughs a little, his head pounding, "Friday it is. A-And then, starting from Saturday morning, I'll be rich."

He feels giddy, a wide grin flashing momentarily across his long face, "I can't imagine it. My life's going to be completely changed! Nothing's going to be the same…"

He finishes his beer, images of Jeannie and the baby standing in front of a tidy house with a lawn and flowerbeds flickering through his mind as he straightens up, "…not ever again."


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N.**

 **Please read and review…oh and disclaimer,**

 **I don't own anything to do with DC or Batman.**

 **CHAPTER FIVE – STORM RISING**

As soon as he stepped outside the crowded bar Jack was violently sick, staggering into a nearby alley and vomiting up his two glasses of beer and that wretched shrimp.

 _What have I gotten myself into? Why did I think coming down here was smart?_ He wonders as he doubles over and sinks to his knees, a hand against the cold grime coated wall of the alley to steady himself _, Why didn't I just go to the unemployment office?_

"Because there is no work." He mumbles wiping his nose and mouth on the back of his sleeve.

 _Shit._ He smelled strongly of booze and cigar smoke and now he was covered in puke. How was he going to explain this to Jeannie?

Slowly Jack hauls himself to his feet and begins limping home, holding his head in his hands as the throbbing behind his temples grows sharp and nearly blinding.

Dry dead leaves skitter around his feet and swirl down the sidewalk ahead of him, brushing against garbage cans and peeling posters advertising for a circus and amusement park long since forgotten.

Everything seemed dead, bleached and drained of life and color when Jack lifts his head to glance around at his surroundings; the buildings covered in graffiti and crumbling with grey laundry strung between them on sagging lines.

"It'll be worth it, won't it?" Jack quietly asks the empty street, "Those people who own the card company won't miss a few hundred, will they?"

He forges on, not lifting his eyes from the pavement and failing to see the oncoming Rolls-Royce as it speeds down the deserted street.

"I mean, Jeannie needs it. I would earn it honestly if I could…i-it'll be just this once…I won't steal again-"

His rambling one sided conversation is abruptly cut off when he shuffles off the curb and into the path of the oncoming car.

Jack looks up at the sound of screeching brakes and sees in horror the grill of the expensive machine inches from him, its headlights round and surprised like two yellow eyes.

The driver jerks the wheel, trying to avoid the drunken comedian; laying on the horn as if the mere sound of it will push him out of the way as the fender catches Jack in the side and sends him rolling into the gutter.

Pain. Sharp aching pain.

The filthy water in the gutter is soaking through his suit as Jack struggles to raise his head up from the cracked cement.

Hurt, everything hurts.

A car door slams and Jack opens his bleary eyes, seeing the dark outline of a man coming towards him.

 _Who did these rich bastards think they were?_

He groans and forces his arms beneath him, pushing his bruised body up out of the rank gutter water as the footsteps draw near and with them the scent of expensive soap and aftershave.

"Hey Mister, you walked right out in front of me!"

Jack snaps his head up to glare into the square, clean-shaven face of the driver, "Maybe you s-should look where you're going next time idiot."

The man's piercing blue eyes widen in shock and he stops short as Jack struggles to his feet, snarling, "You rich men think you can do as you please, you d-disregard the rest of u-us. Y-Y-You t-t-think because we are p-poor w-we're ins-significant."

Blood is running down the side of Jack's long gaunt face, his lack of nutrition evident in the hollows beneath his overly prominent cheekbones and the sharpness of his jaw.

As he wipes the thick red steam out of his eyes to better see the man, he's shocked and terrified by his sudden anger, the same burst of rage that he had felt the night before when Jeannie had said 'oh'. It was almost like madness, uncontrollable.

Bruce Wayne. The playboy billionaire.

Jack feels his throat constrict as he clenches his bony hands into hard fists, staring at the man's tailored suit and shined leather shoes; the spotless red tie and the wrinkle free shirt.

 _He doesn't know the meaning of the word 'struggle', the stupid man has never had to go hungry a day in his life, or sleep in an apartment so cold frost grows on the insides of the windows, or steal to support his starving pregnant wife…_

… _he doesn't know what it is to have a bad day._ Jack thinks, his green eyes growing dark.

Bruce watches the frustration and hatred play out across the drunk's face as they stand facing one another; though they are only standing mere feet apart it seems to both men as if there is an unbreachable chasm separating them. The conflict of two completely and utterly different life paths.

 _It looks like we could be mortal enemies_ , Bruce muses, _about to fight to the death on the streets of Gotham._

"Are you okay Mister?"

"I'm fine, just s-stay the hell away f-from me." Jack orders, taking a stumbling step backwards when Bruce reaches out a helping hand.

"Look I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit you-"

"You're not _sorry_ , You. Don't. Care." The comedian spits out, taking another step backwards and staggering into a trash bin.

Bruce winces as Jack falls hard onto the sidewalk, stepping forward again with an outstretched hand,

"Let me help you! I can take you home at least-"

"NO!"

Jack clambers upright, swiping angrily at the businessman; his face flushed in embarrassment as he tries to brush his torn suit off, "L-Leave me alone."

He casts one more glare into Bruce's face and hisses through his teeth, "I don't want your pity."

Bruce's eyes are indeed full of pity as he sadly watches Jack limp into a nearby alley, shoulders hunched beneath his soaked tuxedo jacket and head down as waves of his wild black hair fall into his lacerated face.

 _I understand your pain_ , he thinks, _I've had a bad day before_.

 **A.N.**

 **Dun dun dun...foreshadowing**


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.**

 **Things are about to reach the boiling point here!**

 **Please read and review and I will love you forever!**

 **CHAPTER SIX – JEANNIE**

Frost crystals had formed on the insides of the warped window panes when Jeannie woke up in the pale blue dawn of winter.

Jack had already left, his side of the bed open and empty.

She smiles sadly at the gentle indent that remains on his pillow, he had been so careful not to wake her up; she hadn't even felt him kiss her forehead goodbye.

The baby gives a small but firm kick and Jeannie feels tears well up in her eyes and collect until they spill heavily over her lashes, staining her cold cheeks with salty tracks.

She wasn't crying because of the baby, she had barely registered the kick; Jeannie cried silently in her empty and cold bed for Jack. She knew his near panic fear of failing, how whenever she woke up in the middle of the night she would find him awake and staring at the bowed ceiling above their bed, lips moving in silence.

Praying or just talking to himself, which it was, she didn't know.

It was private and she didn't badger.

Jeannie never pestered Jack, she didn't demand to know a report of his every move when he was out of her sight; she had seen what kind of an effect a nagging wife had on her husband. She listened to her mother pick at her father the moment he came through the door every night and had vowed never to be that kind of wife.

Jeannie worried quietly, not about Jack getting involved with other women like some wives did, she worried about his mind.

She worried about the stress he was under, about the lack of sleep and the hysterical laughter that bubbled out of him when an audition hadn't gone well and two weeks went by without a phone call from 'them'.

Jeannie was afraid he was driving himself to the point of madness.

She climbs from the bed and heads for the community bathroom across the upstairs hall, the bathroom with the tub that spits out orange water and cockroaches that will crawl into your clothes if you leave them on the cracked tile floor.

Jeannie can hear Mrs. Burkiss watching a soap opera on her portable TV downstairs as she steps into the shower; orange water sputtering over her skin and raising gooseflesh on her arms.

She had tried watching the show with her ancient landlady one morning when the old woman had called her into the musty apartment at the back of the house for a cup of coffee. Mrs. Burkiss always made a pot of thick black coffee every morning while the opening credits to the overly dramatized show were rolling down the TV's square screen.

Jeannie had politely sipped at the black liquid, later telling Jack the polluted river that ran past ACE Chemicals probably tasted better.

Mrs. Burkiss had sat before the small television with one of her scabby cats curled up in her lap, squinting at the people milling across the screen as they argued in hysterical screams with one another. Jeannie had politely excused herself, discreetly pouring her untouched coffee down the pot of a petrified twig, which she guessed, had at one time been an orchid.

Now as she lets the lukewarm water run through her hair Jeannie listens to the muffled exclamations and wails drifting up through the floor from the TV; shaking her head with a smile, the show was so dramatic it was pathetic.

Once the scant warmth in the showers fizzles out Jeannie returns to her apartment to tidy up and begin the day's mending; passing beneath the clothesline she notices Jack's faded black suit is missing and sighs, he never waited for her to iron his clothes.

That suit is prone to folding itself into deep, crinkling wrinkles, its cloth so worn the elbows are mere threads and its once ebony hue has washed out to a dull purple.

Jeannie collects her mending and pulls a chair up to the one window, breathing on the frost to clear a hole to see out of; gazing down at the people bent against the cold as they rush past. The city was in constant movement, a seething, howling mass of humanity. Gotham never slept, she was always awake and in perpetual turmoil. The cracked streets were her veins and the people, the heroin addicts and prostitutes that walked them, her tainted blood.

Every city has a heartbeat and Gotham's was her underworld, her people of the night, her criminals and misfits. Their violence and insanity was her fevered pulse.

Jeannie holds a spare needle between her lips as she darns a large jagged hole in the heel of a businessman's golfing sock; she is fairly sure she has seen every variation of herringbone and argyle conceivable to mankind.

Their dizzying patterns gave her sharp pains behind her tired eyes and whenever she raised them from the sock she would see the pattern dancing across the walls of the apartment.

She casts a glance down at the sidewalk below and stops short, needle slipping and jabbing into her fingertip.

"Jack."

Jeannie throws aside the sock and darning string, hobbling for the door on her swollen waterlogged ankles.

"Jack!"

She reaches the door as he is climbing sluggishly up the cracked front steps, head lolling forwards onto his chest.

"Jack what happened? Are you okay baby?"

He doesn't answer right away, reaching out a hand to steady himself against her, the scent of vomit and beer rising from his torn suit in thick waves.

"I-I got hit…by a car."

Jeannie jumps when he lets out a cry of laughter, maniacal and sharp, and lets his head fall against her shoulder.

"Can you believe it? I-I got _hit_ by a _car_!"

"Let's go inside Jack." She says quietly, pulling him into the tenement; looking in horror at the blood oozing down his long face and staining her neck and sweater.

 _What the hell had happened?_

 **A.N.**

 **Okay that's all for right now, part two of this scene will hopefully be up sometime soon!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N.**

 **Thank you crowmedicine85 for your continued support! You're the best!**

 **Here's the second part of Jeannie:**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN – JEANNIE PART TWO**

Jeannie guides Jack into the remaining chair at the table, concern creasing her worn but beautiful face,

"What happened?"

He sighs and winces at the pain in his ribs, "I told you, I was hit by a car."

"You need a doctor, you could be bleeding internally." Jeannie cries, desperate thoughts of how they would get to a hospital and what if Jack was seriously hurt? What if he died?

"No. It just shook m-me up a little, I don't need a doctor."

He smiles sadly into his lap, at the stains of vomit and blood, "We couldn't afford one anyway."

Jeannie hugs him to her, his wild black waves tickling her nose as she lets out a shaky breath into his hair, "Oh baby-"

"I'm fine." He says gruffly, detaching himself from her, his conscience bothering him; she wouldn't be so tender if she knew what he had agreed to do.

Jeannie looks slightly hurt as she walks over to the sink and runs a tattered washcloth beneath the tap, chewing on her bottom lip as is her worried habit.

Jack looks up into her soft brown eyes as she gently begins to wipe the blood from his face, guilt sinking his shoulders in on themselves.

He decides to test the waters,

"I went to talk to Frank."

The washcloth freezes, alarm spreading across Jeannie's countenance,

"Oh Jack you didn't!"

He puts a large awkward hand over her small one, holding it and the rag against his cheek, "It's nothing Jeannie, nothing happened. I just went to ask him for a loan."

 _That was sort-of true._

"Jack!" Her voice is the closest it's ever come to an angry shout as she pulls her hand out of his, staring down at him in alarm as if he really has gone mad, "Why? Jack you know we couldn't repay Frank!"

"It's nothing-"

"Nothing? What were you thinking? I never wanted you to get involved with the mob, life is hard but getting mixed up with those men is just not worth it. _**I'm**_ not worth it Jack."

" _Jeannie_ ,"

"It won't be nothing when we can't pay up and Frank shoots you th-though the…h-head." Jeannie exclaims, voice breaking as suppressed tears erupt from her eyes and she buries her face in the bloodstained washcloth.

Jack pulls her into his lap, folding her tightly against his chest, "Hey kid, it's okay; Frank wouldn't give me the loan."

Jeannie chuckles cynically through her tears, "Greedy bastard."

"I had a few beers with him but he was against the loan almost from the get-go, we're not in debt to the mob."

 _Well not exactly, I'm supposed to be assisting them in robbing a playing card company, that's like being in debt to Frank. He probably would shoot me through the head if I tried to back out now…_

"Who ran you over?" Jeannie asks, pulling back from him to study the bruises blossoming across his face.

Jack can't help laughing, "I wasn't ran over Jeannie."

She frowns, "You were hit by a car, that's close enough for me."

"Bruce Wayne, that arrogant rich snot." Jack answers, sudden venom edging his words, "He got angry at me after his fender threw me into the gutter; then tried to play a hero and offered to drive me home."

Jeannie clenches her jaw, "Did you report it?"

"No, who would believe me anyway? I look like absolute s-shit, not to mention I reek like a brewery."

He earns a begrudging grin from her and, putting on a mock air of a seriousness saying in the imitation of a Gotham City cop,

"What seems to be your complaint?

I just got ran over by Bruce Wayne!

Okay very funny clown, what really happened?

No I'm serious mac, the sonofabitch drove into me with a Rolls-Royce!

I'd say the only thing that has run over you would be a distillery. Next."

"Oh Jack!" Jeannie grins with a scolding shake of her head, "You always could get a laugh out of me."

"That's why you married me." He grins, his lips stretching up into his cheeks as he gives her his wide smile, "I love you Jeannie."

"I love you more."

"No I do."

"Nope I do."

"Hahahaha!"

The cramped apartment rings with Jack's high mirthful laughter; a sanctuary for the couple as they held one another in the chair and Gotham's dark heart began to beat feverishly with the sinking of the sun.

It was to be the last night anyone passing in the street below would see a glow of the bare lightbulb shining out through the single window like a defiant beacon. The last night before Gotham's infectious disease claimed her most notorious victim and her veins became ablaze with his madness.

 **A.N.**

 **Okay no more fluff, I promise! Next chapter is going to get down to the nitty gritty! Stay with me here!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N.**

 **Okay folks this is where the s*** hits the fan :(**

 **Please read and review and I will love you forever!**

 **Also, a big thank you to DonnaJosee, crowmedicine85 and lookiecookie for the awesome reviews! You guys rock!**

 **And…here…we…GO!**

 **CHAPTER EIGHT – FRIDAY NIGHT**

Jack runs a shaking hand over his hair, attempting to smooth it down with the rust colored water from the community bathroom sink.

"What the _hell_ am I doing?"

"Jack?"

He quickly arranges his long face into a fake smile when Jeannie appears in the door way, a fresh bowtie in one hand and his crisply ironed suit jacket in the other.

"Are you feeling alright Jack? Is there something wrong?" Jeannie asks slipping the bowtie through his shirt collar with tender care.

 _If only you knew._ Jack thinks, wanting dreadfully to confide in his wife as she gazes up into his eyes, green like spring grass she tells him. Instead he only widens his grin,

"I'm fine, just got the jitters for tonight, I g-guess."

"Tonight will be different, I can feel it." Jeannie murmurs, standing on tiptoe to plant a light kiss on his lips, "Things are going to change Jack."

"Let's hope s-so." he mumbles returning her kiss before allowing her to help him on with the jacket,

"I'll be back as soon as I can, don't stay up too late waiting for me."

Jeannie just smiles, tugging and straightening his lapels like an aid preparing an actor to take the stage, "Don't worry 'bout me; I'm going to test out that bottle heater today and see if I really did get a good deal or if we've been gypped."

She gives one final tweak to his bowtie adding, "And I'll be helping Mrs. Burkiss with a bit of cleaning; but really I think she just wants an excuse for gossiping about the musician and his girlfriend who just moved in across the way."

Jack shakes his head ruefully; he didn't have fond feelings for his landlady, "Sounds fun."

"Do you have fare for the bus?"

He nods and she takes in a long breath, a hand on the bump of their baby, "Best of luck Jack."

"I won't disappoint you anymore Jeannie."

"You've never disappointed me."

She follows him to the front steps, Mrs. Burkiss watching the couple from her doorway down the hall, a cat missing an ear curled in her veiny and wrinkled arms.

"See you tonight."

Wait Jack!"

He pauses on the sidewalk as Jeannie waves franticly at him, "I almost forgot to give you this,"

She slips a small rectangular package into his hand, "Something I picked up to help you pass the time on the bus."

A deck of playing cards.

 _How ironic._

"Thanks Jeannie."

Jack slowly opens the case as he wanders slowly down the street, there was no bus to catch, just a day to kill in torment until evening fell.

He shuffles through the cards, studying the vibrantly colored kings, queens and jokers; the royalty appeared dignified and composed while the jesters grinned defiantly up at him.

They were wild, not tied down to the heavy duties of the kings and queens; Jack muses, tapping a cold fingertip against one of the grinning faces. Maybe he would use a joker card as his business card when he finally made it as a comedian. It would be fitting.

He laughs softly to himself and shuffles the deck.

Jeannie returns to the cramped and bitterly cold apartment, rubbing her arms as she looks around at her married home.

It wasn't what she had always envisioned as a little girl, no arching windows or wide verandas. Yet it didn't really matter, not as much as it did when she was a child with a blissful child's dreams.

Her eyes fall on the photograph of her and Jack after their wedding, her in a simple summer dress and him in his usual club entertainer attire. She had been wearing pearls in the picture and Jack had a silk handkerchief in his breast pocket. Both things had been pawned.

The photograph was just a quick informal shot, nothing fancy but the excited grins on their faces made a glow no camera could manufacture, no matter how expensive.

Love couldn't be bought.

Jeannie turns to the counter and reaches for the box containing the bottle heater; the box itself is covered in dings and the image of a cooing baby on its side has faded from sitting in the thrift store's window for so long.

She frowns at the little contraption when she pulls it from the packaging, noting the stains of old baby formula running down its sides.

 _Disgusting, people could at least have tried cleaning it before giving it to the store._

Jeannie thinks sourly, becoming more convinced by the second that she has been given a rotten deal as she unwinds the machine's patched cord and stretches to plug it into the nearby wall socket.

Mrs. Burkiss looks up sharply from her TV, gnarled hand pausing mid-stroke on her cats back when a dull thud resounds through the floorboards from the upstairs apartment.

She purses her lips, listening for a few seconds longer before returning her attention to the man weeping over the fallen form of his wife flickering across the televisions screen.

Her cat meows loudly and slithers off of her lap as the program turns over to commercials; the husbands tear streaked face the last image seen before an advertisement for a vacation getaway replaces him.

Mrs. Burkiss heaves herself up out of her chair and waddles out of her room and down the hallway to the foot of the stairs, "Hey Jeannie are you about ready to help me?"

There is no answer aside from a faint scent of singeing.

"Jeannie girl can you hear me?"

"Jeannie!"

A twinge of panic goads the old woman up the hazardous staircase, carefully picking her way over and around the urine soaked rugs. She's out of breath when she reaches the top and finds the apartment door ajar.

"Look there's no way you can't hear me, I've been hollering like a banshee."

Still there is no reply and the smell of faint burning, like when you first press a hot iron against a shirt, is stronger.

Mrs. Burkiss shoves the door open and steps into the freezing room, her sharp beady eyes taking in the meager living space and its simple furnishings; the clothesline drooping over the table and the ribbon of orange flypaper dangling from the single bulb.

Then she sees Jeannie; frozen in a crumpled heap on the bare floorboards, her blond hair spilling around her face, light brown eyes wide and surprised.

"Jeannie! Oh god, no." Mrs. Burkiss cries, stooping awkwardly over the young woman, her grizzled grey hair falling into her wrinkled face, "Sweetheart can you hear me?"

Jeannie doesn't stir, sliding limply under her landlady's frantic shake, the baby bottle heater lying cracked and smoking beside her head.

A pale watery sun is shedding little warmth on Jack as he makes his way down the crumbling sidewalk to the bar and grill, hugging himself against the chill wind biting at his back.

The usual cacophony of shouts and howling laughter issues from the cracked doorway as Jack pauses on the low front steps, turning his face up to the glittering winter sky above and shutting his eyes to suck in a breath of cold city air, polluted by diesel and fumes of the great metropolis.

 _Yes, it would be different._

He opens his eyes with a small smile, giving the sun above a wave before slipping inside the noisy bar.

"Hey, hey look who it is!"

"Jack m' boy you did show after all." Frank cries, standing up to pull out the rickety chair for Jack to sit in, "We were debating if you'd actually go through with it."

"I-I'm here." Jack says, casting a quick glance around the bar as Frank takes a drag on the thin cigarette clamped between his long skinny teeth, "So you are."

"So," Smiles says briskly, tipping the brim of his bowler back far enough for Jack to see his thick black eyebrows, "everything's settled for tonight? You're still goin' through with it?"

"Uh, well, of course! I'd be crazy to back out now." Jack replies with forced bravado, the place and the two crooks wolfish grins causing him to break out in that nervous sweat again.

"I mean, the worst part, lying to Jeannie, that's over."

 _Thank goodness._

"She thinks I have a club engagement tonight…"

"No reason why shouldn't keep right on thinking that." Smiles affirms wagging two fingers casually at Jack. There were black stains around the mobster's fingernails and his wide knuckles scarred from street fights.

"Right man. No reason at all." Frank agrees as the doors of the bar swing open, sending a gust of frigid winter wind swirling through the seedy establishment.

Jack shudders against the draft and Smiles takes a swig of beer, "Listen: tonight, wear a suit and bowtie. It's a kinda trademark with this Red Hood business."

Jack looks down at his suit and bowtie, still able to feel the gentle touch of Jeannie's small fingers as she straightened his shirt collar; this was now the only suit he owned since his accident two days before.

"Of course! That's what Jeannie will expect me to wear, for the nightclub. Its perfect!"

 _Hopefully it would be dark enough they wouldn't notice it was the same exact suit._

"Uh, Joe…"

Frank interrupts suddenly, giving Smiles' shoulder a nudge, nodding at the two men who walked in with the gust as they lean against the bar talking to Bruce.

They see Bruce scrutinizing a photograph in the plainclothesman's hand then pointing to their table,

"Cops?"

"Be cool man."

Both mobsters look away, shielding their swarthy faces in the shadows beneath the brims of their hats as the two officers come to stand beside the table,

"Excuse me sir, we're police officers. Could we speak to you outside for a moment?"

Jack shrinks back in his chair, a look of surprised horror written across his long pointed features,

"M-Me? B-But…why? I haven't done anything yet…I mean, uh…"

"It'll only take a moment sir…" The uniformed officer says firmly, his voice low and gravely.

Slowly, stumbling over his chair, Jack follows the two outside into the sharp afternoon, squinting against the watery sunlight, "Uh, listen, what, what, what's the problem here? I…"

The plainclothesman doesn't wait for Jack to finish, interrupting in a low tone,

"Sir, I'm sorry, but your wife had an accident this morning-"

 _Jeannie. What had happened? Had she hurt herself helping that damned witch clean that dump of a house?_

"-apparently testing a baby bottle heater. There was an electrical short, and uh…"

The officer clears his throat uncomfortably as Jack stands before him with a hammering heart, still trying to process the syllables coming out of the man's mouth.

"…well, she died, sir. I'm sorry."

…

Silence. Emptiness. The breath has been stolen from Jack's lungs as he stands rooted to pavement, hands falling limply to his sides.

Laughter still issues from inside the bar but to Jack it seems far away and muted as if the policeman's words have sucked the color and life from everything, Drained.

Dead.

"What?"

It isn't his voice coming out him; it's the voice that comes out when he's on stage and has forgotten his killing joke, the faint stuttering mumble.

"Listen, I hate to break it to you like this. It was a million to one accident! They have full details waiting for you at the hospital." The officer says, putting a hand against Jack's sagging shoulder, becoming stronger now that he has delivered his message, "There's no hurry."

"If I was you, I'd have another drink." The uniformed man adds as they turn away.

"Is there anything you need sir?"

Jack gives a listless shake of his head, "N-No."

The men then continue on their way leaving Jack standing alone on the front steps of the bar.

Alone. That's what he was, alone. He had no family, no friends, no one but Jeannie and now she was gone.

Slowly he goes back inside the bar, every step an agony as he makes his way back to the table and slumps down into the chair,

"My w-wife."

"What'd they say man? You look like shit." Frank remarks, noting the grey tinge to their patsy's skin.

"She's dead. My wife…"

"Gee that's terrible. We're really sorry." Smiles says without much sympathy.

"Yeah. Hey, listen, man, you probably want to be left alone right now, huh? We'll see you here tonight, okay?" Frank babbles quickly getting up from the table, unnerved by Jack's shell-shocked expression as the comedian traces his finger around the image of Jeannie's face. Their wedding photo.

"Tonight?" He raises his head in bewilderment, mouth hanging slightly agape, "But…but I can't do anything tonight, th-there's no reason anymore. Jeannie…Jeannie…Jeannie's dead. Dead. You don't understand…"

Smiles grips his shoulder in a painfully tight grip, "No, no, no. No, I'm sorry about your wife, but it's you that don't understand."

He leans in close until his moustache is nearly brushing Jack's ear as he growls, his breath heavy with cheap beer, "What's happening tonight, it's no little thing. Nobody backing out now remains healthy _. No exceptions_."

"B-But…"

Frank's weasel face looms in from Jack's right, his usually light tone hard, " _ **No buts**_ , man. Tomorrow, you bury your old lady in luxury. Tonight you're with us. Get the picture?"

"Yes."

They leave him sitting alone at the table strewn with their empty beer glasses, his wide green eyes fixed blankly on the far wall,

"Yes, I get the picture."

Suddenly the wild carousing going on around him becomes deafening, the painted women hideous and the drunks twisted and ugly, their smiles and coarse laughter seeming to Jack meant to mock his grief.

He lowers his face to the stained tabletop, wrapping his trembling arms over his head as the weight of his grief slams down on his back and heart; shoving him down.

"J-Jeannie."

He lets out a choked sob, gripping his unruly waves of hair when his hat tumbles from his head, "Jeannie."

 **A.N.**

 **Gosh I felt so bad doing that…sorry Jack.**

 **Please R &R**


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N.**

 **We're getting close to the end here, thanks so much everybody for the reviews and continued support!**

 **CHAPTER NINE – IT BEGINS**

ACE CHEMICAL PROCESSING

Jack gazes down into the murky drainage reservoir, a freezing shower of winter rain dampening his suit and obscuring the chemical plant's name.

 _This is where those bug-eyed shrimp came from._ Jack thinks, noting the multicolored sludge dumping from a wide drainage pipe in to the river, there was probably a menagerie of other mutated creatures lurking in the toxic waters.

 _Those bug-eyed shrimp._

He shudders, watching as his rippling reflection follows suit.

"Hey c'mon!" Frank calls impatiently, fumbling with the worn carpetbag.

Jack doesn't move, letting the rain wash down his face in place of the tears he had no more strength to weep. His eyes are gritty and dry, and there's a dull throbbing in the back of his skull.

No, he had shed all the tears he was able to in the hospital morgue; the fat droplets had soaked everything, his shirt front and Jeannie's hair which had appeared silver in the lab's harsh fluorescent lights.

She didn't look real, not like vibrant smiling Jeannie; she was grey and cold.

Cold. Jack couldn't erase the memory of her freezing skin from his mind, from where it had touched his palms as he cradled her face.

 _It was quick._ The mortician had informed Jack as he stood hunched over his wife's body, weeping softly into her neck.

Jack had wanted to scream at the man, _'Quick? Quick! She's dead! She shouldn't have died, she should have left that damned bottle heater in the thrift store where it belonged!"_

Instead he presses his face harder against her cold flesh, trying to bring back the warmth somehow into her, the life.

There had been forms to fill out, papers shoved beneath his hand as he limply held a pen whose ink was starting to run out.

Sign here and here. A nurse in a crisp white uniform instructs, tapping a red taloned finger against the line where Jack was to scrawl his name unseeingly.

He didn't see much of anything. What was there to see? He would never see his baby. The tiny life snuffed out with Jeannie's when the electrical current had passed through her body.

It had been quick.

"Quit daydreamin'. Are we doing this or aint we?" Frank snaps angrily, glaring impatiently at the comedian's bowed silhouette.

"Uh, Yes. Yes, of course." Jack answers mechanically, shuffling over to Frank and watching as his reflection glides along beside him in the black water, "I was, I was just remembering…I used to walk along here on the way to work each morning…"

 _Why'd I quit that job? Would things have been different if I had stuck with it? If I passed along here Monday through Friday and sometimes Saturday?_

"Yeah, yeah, now put this sucker on, man, an' shut up." Frank orders in exasperation, finally tugging the long metal helmet from the bag and lifting it up.

 _It's garish._ Jack thinks, embarrassed suddenly by the odd costume with its long scarlet cape. The ensemble is brighter than Jack remembers, a vibrant red like a fire engine.

"What, right now? I mean…I mean, are you sure it's okay?" He asks as Frank begins sliding it down over Jack's head, "Will I be able to breathe?"

"Hey, mam, everything's cool. Jeez…" Frank answers pulling and pushing on the rain slick metal, adding with a chuckle, "Y'know, you got a funny shaped head…"

The hood slips into place and Jack blinks in the cramped space, teetering backwards a step as Frank grins, "There. You still see okay man?"

"Wuh, well, yeah. I guess, except everything's red…"

 _Like hell_. He thinks dismally sucking in a breath and wrinkling his nose at the queer smell that lingers in the helmet, faintly reminiscent of blood or vomit or both.

"I-It's kinda stuffy too, and it smells funny. Does my voice sound echoey to you?"

Frank laughs and Smiles grins, "You sound great. Now…how about guidin' us through this stinkin' factory to the joint next door?"

"Sure. Sure thing." Jack mumbles lurching toward the access steps, "Y'know this feels kinda weird. Like a dream. I keep remembering Jeannie…"

What is she thinking of him right now? He's sure she's watching from above and he cringes at the thought.

I'm sorry baby.

"Watch out, man, steps." Frank exclaims as Jack trips over the cement blocks, catching himself with a low sigh.

Once inside he instinctively turns left in the direction of the wall separating the chemical plant from the card factory,

"Okay…we go through here, past the filter tanks and then Monarch Playing Cards is just beyond a partition."

He glances nervously around at the tall vats of bubbling toxins, "Y'know, this place…it looks even worse in red. It looks like…"

"HEY YOU! FREEEZE!"

"Oh shit." Smiles growls as the security guard trains his revolver on the startled trio, "C'mon, c'mon, get 'em up!"

"You asshole! You said there was no security!"

Frank screams in Jack's ear as the former lab assistant stands petrified in terror, "They..they must have altered things since I left…"

"Altered things?" Frank bellows yanking a pistol from his coat and taking a shot at the security guard, "I'm gonna alter your stupid horse face, man!"

The gunshot echoes off the steel vats and reverberates inside the helmet as Jack grabs in vain at his ears, "AAAA! That noise! It's so loud in here!"

He wants to sink to his knees and cradle his throbbing head but Smiles gives him a rough shove in the back crying, "For God's sake, RUN! This is all screwed up!"

The security guard has ducked out of sight but the men can hear him readying his pistol as he yammers into his radio, "Murph, get some men over to the rear bays. We got the Red Hood Mob in here."

Jack follows blindly after his fleeing companions, sliding on the wet cement floor as they pound franticly through a maze of hissing pipes and vats leeching fumes.

"Oh Jeez! Which way is it? How do we get out?" Smiles asks in a panic as Jack tugs helplessly at the slippery hood, "I…I don't know! This mask…Can't see where I'm going…"

"I'm gonna kill you, you useless son of a bitch! When we get out of here, I swear I'm gonna-" Frank's wrathful shout is abruptly cut short when a bullet tears through his skull, spattering bits of brain and a spray of blood over Jack.

Frank squeezes the trigger of his pistol as he falls sideways over onto Smiles, the bullet ricocheting off a nearby steel plating as the two men fall hard to the floor.

"Aw hell. Aw hell…" Smiles groans, his own and Frank's dark blood mixing together and soaking the front of his trench coat.

"What? What is it?" What is it, it's all over me…" Jack gasps, feeling the warmth of the blood soaking though his suit as he stands over the fallen mobsters, trying to see what it is that's covering his gloved hands.

Smiles musters enough strength to yell at the advancing police and security, "You guys…you don't want me. You want him. He's the ringleader, he's the Red Hood-"

 _Ringleader?_ Jack wants to hold up his hands and say _, 'This is all just a big mistake, can't we just forget about this and try again tomorrow?_ ' but instead he lets out a yelp as a shout rings out from overhead, "Watch out! He's pulling a gun!"

And a barrage of bullets rain down on Smiles, narrowly missing Jack as he scrambles desperately up a matinence lander with another startled cry, "Oh no. No, no, no, no…"

Rain is still falling, a heavier drizzle than before making the metal flooring of the catwalk treacherous as Jack runs blindly, searching for an exit.

"The ringleader's taking off across the catwalk!"

"He's still in range-"

They're going to kill me! Jack realizes in horror, the helmet suffocating him.

"No. No more shooting." A new voice interrupts the others, "I'm here now."

 _What now?_ Jack cries inside his head stumbling into the railing as the catwalk makes a sharp turn and the voice finishes, "I'll take care of it my way."

There are mixed exclamations from the police followed by a thud of something landing heavily on the far end of the catwalk, "So, Red Hood, we meet again."

Jack turns shakily around to face the speaker, a hand gripping the railing to steady himself, his breathing so ragged he's sure it can be easily heard everywhere in the factory.

His blood runs cold, a masked figure dressed like a bat is glaring at him, the pointed ears on top of its head appearing to Jack like the horns of a demon,

"No. No no no. This isn't happening. Oh dear God, what have you sent to punish me?"

The thing comes closer and Jack backs up against the railing, heart slamming in terror against his ribs, "D-Don't come any closer! Don't come any closer, or I swear I-I'll…"

Jack struggles to pull the helmet from his head, to show everyone it's just awkward nobody Jack; no bloodthirsty criminal mastermind, just a comedian who forgot his jokes.

Then his foot catches on the cape, and he feels himself jerking backwards over the railing, suspended momentarily in midair before plummeting like a rock toward the bubbling vat below,

"…jump…"

"NO! Damn it!"

Jack hits the acid and sinks instantly towards the bottom, the helmet weighing him down as it begins filling with the searing noxious liquid.

God no! He gasps and sucks in a lungful of the terrible green fluid, choking and swallowing more as he thrashes in a wild panic; the cape twisting and wrapping itself around his flailing arms as he bounces against the bottom of the vat with a metallic thud.

He was drowning; he couldn't breathe, his chest feeling like it was tearing itself in two as the acid sears his skin and insides.

Everything is pitch black and he can't make it to the surface, sucked ruthlessly along on a gurgling current; tumbling head over heels, forced through the narrow tube by the sheer force of the mounting liquid behind him.

Just as Jack is sure he's about to lose consciousness he's violently thrown from the pipe into the drainage river.

He kicks with the last remnants of his strength and breaks the surface of the black water with a gurgling gasp,

Finally his feet touch the silty river bottom and with trembling arms he slowly heaves himself from the cesspool, sinking into the slick, foul smelling mud on it bank.

For several minutes he doesn't move, gasping and filling his burning lungs with much needed air as he lies in a drenched exhausted heap among the scraggly yellowed weeds.

His skin is on fire and for a sickening moment Jack is sure he's blind. Slowly he sits up and grips the hood under its brim, crying out in agony, "Aaugh. I'm stinging, itching, my face, my hands…something in the water? Oh Jeez, it _burns_ …"

His voice, its different, harsher somehow as he continues his muttering, "Get this stupid hood off. Get it off so I can…"

He yanks it from his head with an angry cry and finds himself faced with his distorted reflection in a mud puddle, "…see."

Jack sits in stunned silence, gazing in horror at the face staring back up at him; the chalk white skin and the lips, it was like they were bleeding, such a vibrant hue of red.

"God, no." He hides his face in his hands as the rain washes the acid from his hair and suit, the cloth of which is now purple.

How would he be able to face Jeannie? He was a monster, a freak.

He staggers to his feet, desperate to get away from that awful face and then remembers, Jeannie was dead.

Wasn't she?

What had happened to her? A heart attack or something, right?

Who was Jeannie anyway?

Jack feels his mind tearing loose from sanity, teetering on the verge of madness just as he had teetered over the brim of that vat.

Oh that was ironic, such a foreshadowing. He smiles, slowly raising his head with a small delirious chuckle.

Colors were brighter, the edges of things sharper, like a curtain had been pulled back from over his eyes, from his mind.

He lets out another chuckle, this time louder.

Jack doesn't know whether to laugh or sob and for a moment he doesn't do either, making sharp noises in the back of his throat as he looks in dumfounded curiosity at the tendrils of green hair hanging before his face.

Green hair.

It was funny, wasn't it?

His voice it was weird, it wasn't him at all…then again…who was he?

A suppressed guffaw escapes his ruby red lips as he grips his wild hair and lifts his face to the clouds hanging low over Gotham a full blown howl of laughter torn from him.

He feels his burning skin stretching as his face widens into an uncontrollable grin, the leer of a madman, blood dripping from his lips.

Everything he had ever known, held dear, was stripped from him.

Such comedy.

Jack cranes his head back and lets out a scream, a wild roar that quickly morphs into hysterical laughter.

It was a killing joke.

…

 **A.N.**

 **It's DONE! Whew! I'm kind of sad it's over.**

 **Thanks so much for reading my first Fanfiction ever!**

 **Hopefully there will be more stories to come!**

 **Please R &R and I will love you forever.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Epilogue:**

Bruce tears his eyes away from the night sky at Commissioner's sour sigh, the man shakes his head slowly as he studies the severely dented red hood; it looked like someone in the throes of a violent rage had taken a rock and bashed it in.

"You said they never found a body?"

'No sir. I looked myself but I only found that."

"You're sure he was flushed out of the vat?"

"I'm sure, I pulled the lever myself. The vat was completely drained and empty with the exception of this,"

Bruce sets a playing card down beside the helmet, the grinning face of a joker glaring up at them.

The Commissioner sighs again, "I'll have some of my men dredge that reservoir again tomorrow, thanks for your help Batman."

"Comish, we've got a Code Red downtown; something about a psycho dressed up like a clown on a killing spree." A red faced officer announces breathlessly, sticking his head into the dim office.

"Good grief, when will it ever end?" The Commissioner sighs; he had joined the GCPD years ago with the naïve hope of sweeping Gotham clean, now 20 years later and no longer the rookie officer he once was Gordon had begun to give up on saving his city. Almost. But as he turns to the cloaked figure standing beside him he no longer feels such a dread at the emergence of a new criminal; his hope was growing again.

"I guess your night isn't over yet-"

He stops; the window is open, blinds swinging slowly in the night breeze.

"I'm always talking to myself."

The acrid scent of burning gasoline and blood fills the air as Batman swings down onto the street, waves of heat distorting the figure facing him; a tall, lean man in a purple club entertainer's suit.

Bruce blinks, thinking it to be trick of the firelight, but finding that upon looking again the wild waves of hair atop the man's head really are green.

A bright, electric green.

It was bizarre, like the man had crawled out of a toxic waste dump. And yet, there was something disconcertingly familiar about him as well.

"Ah, I was wondering if you were going to come."

Bruce warily watches the man's wide brilliantly green eyes, searching for a sign of reason as the deranged specter stands perched atop the back of a dead businessman, the face of which has been brutally bashed inwards.

"Who are you?"

"Good question."

Jack grinds the heel of his shoe into the side of the businessman's head, the pool of blood spreading wider around them, "I thought maybe you could tell me."

"Put the gun down and let's talk." Batman orders, slipping a batarang discreetly into his palm as Jack gives his victim's head another good stomp, crushing the skull with a sickening crunch,

"Why should I?"

"What do you want?"

"To get your attention." The red lips turn upwards in a frightening grin and the comedian lets out a wild shriek of laughter, the noise echoing off of the building fronts as he tosses a small square of paper at batman's feet; a playing card.

The Joker.

"I was hoping you would finish what you started."

Bruce takes a step forward, "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" The Joker arches one green eyebrow, "You don't recognize me?"

"No."

"You _made_ me!" he hisses, stepping down from the corpse and walking slowly towards the Dark Knight, " _You_. It was _you_ who did this-"

He bangs a fist against his chest, the wide smile turning quickly into a hideous snarl that darkens the comedian's long face, " _you_ who threw me in that vat."

Recognition dawns across Bruce's masked face, his mouth opening slightly in surprise; The Red Hood, the man really had crawled out of toxic waste.

"Remembering now Batsy?" The Joker asks, raising the pistol and aiming it at Bruce's head,

"Now that we've got introductions out of the way, why don't you..."

His smile is bitter as he catches a glimpse of himself in a shop window, the roaring flames behind him casting a red glow over everything.

 _Like hell._

"…kill me?"

Gordon climbs from his squad car, confused by the scene unfolding before him on the rubble strewn street; the clown and the bat frozen facing one another.

"Batman?"

"It's fine Commissioner." Bruce answers holding up a hand to wave off the gathering police, keeping an eye on the madman standing before him,

"I won't kill you."

"Why not? I've destroyed your city, killed people. I'm going mad, why won't you put me out of my misery before I do anymore damage?" The Joker asks, "You came close already."

"You slipped, it was an accident; I tried to catch you and I tried to empty the vat before you drowned." Bruce answers, "I wasn't trying to kill you, I was going to bring you to justice."

"Wouldn't killing me be serving justice, eh Bats? I've killed innocent people. An eye for an eye or so they say?"

Bruce frowns, "An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind."

The Joker sneers, "Ha! Such a set of morals! But really Batsy where's the fun in that?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"For kicks! Ha!"

"Is that it? It's just a big joke to you?"

The Joker grins with a small shrug, "Everything's a joke. Life is one big joke. Nothing makes sense…it's all madness."

He sighs softly, "All's it takes is one bad day…one bad day and poof! The world turns on you, then there's no going back."

Batman sees it coming; the quick twitch of the Joker's white fingers on the trigger, the widening grin.

 _The clown was fast, almost too fast_ , he thinks, throwing the batarang and knocking the gun from the Joker's hand. Bruce rushes the unarmed madman, a hard fist connecting with the Joker's nose and sending him down.

"HA! You're good Batsy!" The Joker laughs, grinning as blood runs from his nose and stains his suit front, "This is going to be fun."

Gordon picks of the pistol from where it has landed at his feet, bewildered when upon lifting it, he finds it is merely a plastic replica.

The Joker sees his look of confusion and smirks, "Disappointing to you Commissioner? It would have been beautiful if Batman had broken my neck only to find out I wasn't even armed! HA! Now that would have been one hell of a joke…"

 **A.N.**

 **Okay I wanted to add a possible ending and first meeting of Batman and the Joker (kind of like a scene to link the flashbacks of 'The Killing Joke' and the beginning of the comic, 'Dead to Rights.') I dunno, not my best work but I felt it could use an epilogue :)**

 **Now this story is officially complete!**

 **Please R &R**


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